Resolutions
by mimeo
Summary: Set after 2x7, everyone makes personal resolutions for the new year.


Alisha's scribbling in her paisley pink day planner, biting the end of her pen occasionally. Her eyes flit across the flat every now and then to rest on Simon, reading at his - well, _their_, she thinks delightedly - desk.

She's putting the finishing touches on a brief list of New Year's Resolutions.

_Exercise more. _(But isn't that every girl's failed resolution? Hmph. Maybe sex counts, she thinks to herself.)

_Save a set amount of money each month_ (instead of blowing it on shoes. Or drugs. Or that new mascara Simon tells her she doesn't need anyway.)

_Get him back._

At first, she smiles when she writes that one with a flourish. Then she frowns and thinks maybe she should rephrase it into something "nicer," something along the lines of "help Simon fulfill his destiny" or some other suitably epic wording.

She looks up at Simon again, Simon with his stiff posture and perfect hair and timid mannerisms, looking so out-of-place in the futuristic flat. Not her man. _Still_ not truly hers. She knows.

She looks back down at her notes and underlines the last goal.

. . .

Kelly's not telling anyone her resolution. If they ask, she'll say she doesn't have one, doesn't need an arbitrary date on a calendar to tell her when to change anything about herself.

That's not true, though. It's just that her resolution is something quite personal.

Not to love or trust. Anyone. Anything. Hardly herself.

She'd always had a tough shell, yes, but she had let a few people in through the cracks after they'd pried hard enough. Lee (two fucking years of her life wasted. Two fucking years, including hours of mental wedding planning, hours of subsequent tears.) Bruno. Nathan.

Nathan...

Her feelings about him fluctuated.

Nathan shacked up with the first girl who opened her legs for him, but obviously the draw wasn't purely sex, as he was now supporting her and her fucking baby. Not even his. He was supporting a stranger's baby. He seemed so fucking ihappy/i with her, that vulgar little chipmunk of a girl. That wasn't what he needed, Kelly thought to herself. He didn't need a gender-flipped clone, a playmate to fuel his reckless fire; he needed someone to look after him and pull him back from the edge he always teetered on. Someone to give him a good slap for his own safety. Someone to help him grow and let his guard down.

So, after three strikes in a row, she was closing up her heart in order to let it grow. She wasn't, as they say, "giving up on love"; she was just taking a long, carefree break. Five years. Maybe ten. Get a good job and support herself, become wholly independent. Let nothing faze her. Let no one in until she was sure they deserved it - which was even harder to detect, now that she'd lost her original power. She felt she'd be tricked too easily at this point in time.

She didn't know how much would be left of her if she kept investing all of herself in those she cared about. And so it had to stop.

. . .

Curtis doesn't tell anyone goodbye. He figures they can come to a conclusion themselves, if they even give enough fucks to notice he's gone.

He packs his bags and leaves on the 27th after spending Christmas reconnecting with his family. Promises he'll come back to visit them frequently, get more involved in his little cousin's lives, and in the church and all that.

No regrets, he tells himself whenever his "friends" cross his mind. They've been nothing but trouble, done nothing but hold him back.

Hold him back and get his girlfriend killed.

He tries not to think about her. Tries not to think of the intensity of his feelings for her, in comparison to those he had for Sam and Alisha. Tries to erase every detail of the future he'd planned with her, the domestic life, the travels, the kids, one boy and one girl, maybe adopted-

The train pulls into Abbey Wood station and snaps him out of his thoughts. He boards and doesn't even notice the stagnant tears in his own eyes.

. . .

Nathan vows to beat Marnie's record for "fastest diaper changing speed."

It gets messy.

. . .

Simon's opened a new Word document on his laptop. Started a list. Nice centered header, in bold Helvetica, "New Year's Resolutions." Below, the cursor blinks tauntingly in front of "#1."

He chews his lip, curls his fingers in and out, drums them on his desk. Mind blank and racing at once.

The clock reads in the corner reads 23:45. He touches the keys.

"_Learn parkour."_

A reasonable enough resolution, he thinks, but then he pauses, fingers hovering over the keys. He's sick of the scraped knees and bruises and aches and bloody noses that his "practice" of the activity has brought him so far. He's frustrated. He'll end up breaking his neck, he thinks, and he can't afford that. This will take time, maybe coaching, if he sticks with it at all. He thinks of setting a more rewarding, more positive goal.

_delete delete delete._

"Make Alisha happy."

That's a nice one, yeah? That's what good boyfriends do? A forced tight-lipped smile flits across his face for a moment before his eyes dim. He realizes he has no idea what that resolution entails. Girls are confusing, but Alisha especially. She'll let little verbal puzzle pieces slip out sometimes, but most of the time it's as if she's toying with him and seeing how far her can get on his own, on this road she claims he's heading down. This heroic journey. This fucking crusade. Let's just simplify the resolution, then.

_delete delete delete._

"_Be him."_

He squints a bit, a melancholy expression falling across his face. No, that's stupid, that's illogical, unreasonable, he doesn't even _know_ what to _begin_ to live up to. The very fact that he's referring to his future self as another man, as a mysterious, ominous "him," is enough to let anyone see how daunting the task is to Simon. In fact, more and more frequently, he's visited by the dark thought that Alisha is lying. That she was attracted to some sliver of him but wanted to completely reshape the rest, so she spouted some time travel shit that he'd been gullible enough to believe. Of course she'd want to change him, he thinks. No one would ever have liked the person he was. The person he still is inside, alone.

_delete delete delete._

...

"_Buy and successfully utilize Fisherman's Frie-_

_DELETEDELETEDELETE_

He adjusts his collar, fidgets, then finally sighs quietly. Stares down in thought for a moment, then back up at the screen.

...

"_Watch all 173 episodes of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine."_

He closes his laptop and the room succumbs to pitch black darkness, and maybe something inside him does too.


End file.
